


We Got Time

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 19 Year Old Reader, Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Bunker Sex, Comeplay, Cunnilingus, F/M, Facials, First Time Blow Jobs, Kissing, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, Men of Letters Bunker, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, virgin!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-25 07:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14373711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Prompt: "Would you mind writing a story where Dean takes the reader's virginity, she's moved to the bunker as well, Dean and her had always flirted a little every now and then, but he considers her too young, (he's 35, in s10, she's 19ish), and is afraid to hurt her, but she reassures him she's fine and admits how freaking much she thinks about him. :) She's suddenly got a dirty mouth on her even though she usually is a bit shy and Dean gets turned on and ends up wanting her too, so he takes her virginity."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by Anna

“No way!” you laugh, raising your soda to your lips. “I mean, _seriously_?”

“Yup,” Dean says next to you, “Killer clowns.” He’s grinning wide, “Sammy’s favorite.”

Sam’s shaking his head, the corners of his mouth tugged up in an unamused smirk. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up you guys,” he says, “Wouldn’t be so funny if those creepy sonsabitches were after _you_.”

Dean nods, laughing as he drains the rest of his beer. “Fair enough, little brother.”

The three of you sit at the table in the bunker’s kitchen, full and sated from greasy takeout as the brothers regale you with some of their most outrageous hunting stories. This one involved a disgruntled children’s arcade employee who had used hoodoo to take down ‘neglectful’ parents. Realizing the Winchesters were on to him, he’d used this magic to summon Sam’s greatest fear - psychotic clowns.

Your chest and belly aches from the laughter; it’s been a long time since you’ve laughed this hard.

Dean thumbs at the label on his beer bottle while you pick at the tab on your soda can as the joviality wanes into tired silence. Sam scrolls the news feed on his cell for a moment before calling it a night, the three of you rising to wordlessly clear the table.

When the kitchen is ready for another day, there’s an echoing of ‘goodnights’ and then you’re making the trek to your separate bedrooms.

**********

You’ve been living with the guys for about three months now. Ever since that pack of werewolves took _everything_ from you. A night you can never erase from your memory - you can even smell the carnage if you think about it hard enough. You would have been devoured too, if not for the Winchesters. They’d appeared just in the nick of time, putting the monsters down with stunning speed and accuracy.

These mysterious plaid-clad men had saved your life, but that still left you nineteen years old with no family and nowhere to go. So, the infamous hunters took you under their collective wing and into the bunker.

The underground shelter Sam and Dean called home was overwhelmingly huge; you’d gotten lost in the winding hallways on several occasions, but once you’d gotten the hang of its layout, you’d spend hours exploring every nook and cranny. The library was your favorite, you’d quickly decided, often falling asleep face-first in the dusty pages some ancient lore book.

It had taken you all of about four hours to completely decorate and personalize your bedroom, making the small space your own; creating a sense of belonging - a sense of home.

The first few weeks had been rocky; most nights spent crying yourself to sleep while the hunters listened on, helpless to ease your pain. And the nightmares - Oh god, the nightmares; vivid images of blood and screams and death. You’d lost count of how many nights you’d woken up _shrieking_ \- just before one or both startled men came thundering down the hall, barging into your room with weapons drawn.

But with time, the pain began to recede, and you’d have moments of normal.

And you had a family again.

You and Sam had quickly formed an unbreakable bond, like long-lost siblings finally reunited. Forever your protector and confidant, you trusted him with anything and everything. It was Sam who had initially given you the ‘monsters-are-fucking-real’ talk, delicately explaining the hidden horrors of the world in a way that didn’t evoke fear, didn’t make you want to run screaming - Instead, you felt…oddly secure. If these kinds of things existed - and you saw first-fucking-hand that they did, then there was nowhere safer to be than in the bunker with the Winchesters.

And then there was Dean. Dean was…Well, he was different. You felt just as protected by him as you did by Sam, but definitely _not_ in a brotherly sense. It didn’t take you long to realize you had a mad crush on the hunter, but he was significantly older than you - Hell, they both were - but a nineteen year old virgin had no business having… _thoughts_ about a thirty-five year old man. You knew it was forbidden territory, but you weren’t blind.

From the moment you met them, you’d immediately found both brothers insanely attractive, but something about Dean had gripped you from the get-go and hasn’t let up since. There’s a ruggedness about him that Sam doesn’t have - maybe it’s the scruff dusting his jaw that you just know would feel incredible between your thighs, and how it contrasts with those full lips - _God_ , you’d give anything to feel his mouth on yours…Or maybe it’s the endearing crinkles imprinted around those emerald eyes that deepen every time he laughs.

Maybe it’s his bulking height. He may not be as tall as Sam, but the man still dwarfs you - and you can’t help but think about laying underneath him, blanketed by broad shoulders and crushing muscle -

 _You’re just infatuated,_ you’d told yourself. _You’ll grow out of it._

But the torch you’ve held for him hasn’t even _begun_ to extinguish. Not when he shoots you one of those playful winks, or when he gives you the once-over as you prance around the kitchen in those little sleep-shorts that you _totally_ don’t wear just for him. Not when his gaze sometimes lingers on you a little longer than it should when Sam’s out of the room.

**********

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, right knee bouncing with nerves as you chew the inside of your cheek. You’re antsy, an energy thrumming inside that just won’t quit. You’ve been contemplating tonight for weeks - You were going to talk to Dean, tell him how you felt. It’s a risky move, ending in one of three ways. One, he freaks and kick you out, leaving you homeless once again. Two, he thinks it’s cute - little girl with a crush - how _sweet_ ; he’d patronize you - God, you wouldn’t be able to face him after that. And three, he, by some miracle, returns your affections. Either way, your relationship would never be the same.

You’re pacing the room now, you have to _move_. The longer you mull it over, the harder your heart pounds in your tightening chest.

 _Maybe this is bad idea - No. Yeah. It totally is._ But you just can’t _stand_ it anymore. The freaking tension and the not knowing…

You’re in the hallway now, the floor cold against your bare feet, your clammy hands balled into fists at your sides as you stiffly shuffle towards Dean’s room.

Light filters out from underneath the door, kissing the tips of your toes as you idly stand in front of the wooden barrier. You take a deep breath and rasp your knuckles exactly four times and then there’s a muffled, rumbling voice inviting you in.

You release a slow exhale of courage as you turn the knob to enter the room. Dean is propped up on the bed, feet crossed at the ankles. He takes off his headphones as you enter, closes his laptop, tossing it aside.

“Sup?” Dean asks as you click the door shut behind you.

“Um, I dunno. Just not tired and I saw your light on and…I dunno, just thought I’d see what you were up to.” Your voice is tight, but Dean doesn’t seem to catch it.

“Yeah, I’m kinda wired too,” he agrees. He scratches his right arm through his flannel.

The mark. You both pretend not to notice.

You look down, taking a sudden interest in your feet. You need to repaint your toenails soon.

“Y’wanna watch a movie?” Your head snaps back up and you smile.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

**********

You’re forty-five minutes into some Netflix comedy that you couldn’t summarize if you tried, because you haven’t been paying attention. You haven’t been paying attention because you’re propped up next to Dean. On Dean’s bed.

You’re innocently curled against his side in order to share the computer screen on his lap, your head laying harmlessly on his shoulder while his arm rests on the headboard behind you. Your fingers play with the hem of your cotton shorts - _those_ shorts - as you blankly stare at the monitor. Your body shakes with Dean’s every time he laughs - and there’s those crow’s feet sprouting from the corners of his eyes.

He turns to you at your lack of amusement, “How do you not find that funny, did you see-” His eyes drop down to your mouth where your lower lip is trapped between your teeth.

“I guess I’m just not that interested in the movie.” Holy _crap_ , when did you get so bold?

“You - y’wanna…watch somethin’ else?” He’s flustered. _You_ flustered _him?_

Your eyes are wide and locked on his. You slowly shake your head.

He swallows, furrowing his brows. “What - what’s going on here?”

You want to laugh as he stumbles through his words, but you’re locked inside an anxious prison of your own.

You worry at your lip while you find your voice. “I just… _really_ like you, Dean and-”

“I really like you too, kiddo.” He smiles a friendly smile; polite. The kind of smile you’ve seen him flash to check out clerks and diner waitresses (the ones he isn’t trying to pick up).

You let out a huff of frustration. “No, I mean I _fucking_ _like_ you,” you say lowly, like you’re trying to drive the words into him.

Dean draws back a beat and looks away, slipping his arm back from behind you to rake his fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” he says, his brows and mouth twitching while he processes this new information.

He lick his lips, “I think you’re just confused.”

Ah. So patronizing it is.

“I mean, you’ve been living with two men - I guess it’s only natural that you’re gonna…develop some sort of…something.” He’s still not looking at you as he speaks, like he needs to talk himself though this.

Now it's your turn to look away, clenching your jaw as you fold your arms over your chest. You feel his eyes on you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second.

“Hey, I didn’t mean-” he starts, cutting himself off. “You’re just so young, I could never…”

“I’m _nineteen_ , Dean. I’m not a little girl.” You grit, though you don’t think you’ve ever felt smaller.

“I know that,” he says softly. “Look, I’m flattered, I really am-”

You huff a humorless laugh. “Let me guess, you’re just a flirty guy and I’ve mistaken all of those…looks, all the-”

You swallow, the threat of hot tears stinging behind your eyes. “You know what, just forget it,” you mumble, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

“Wait!” You still, turning your head to the side, signaling your attention.

“I’m responsible for you, if we cross that line-”

“Responsible?!” you echo, you’re nearly shouting now.

“You and Sam are _not_ my fucking guardians!”

“I-” he tries.

“I can pack my shit up and leave whenever I want. Start over. _Again_.” Your voice is dripping with venom and you can feel your chest constrict with guilt. You can’t bring yourself to look at his face.

“I know.” Dean’s says, barely above a whisper.

Several excruciating moments pass as you contemplate actually leaving. Leaving them behind. Leaving him.

The sound of Dean clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You shift, turning to face him, drawing your legs crossed in front of you, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“It’s not you.” You roll your eyes. _Really? He’s gonna use the old ‘It’s-not-you-it’s-me’ line?_

Dean frowns at you, takes a breath.

“You deserve better than me,” he says. And you feel your heart break a little at the earnest in his words.

You shake your head. “No-”

“You do, kiddo.” He closes his eyes, pain flashing across his face. “I’m…I’m _dangerous_ ,” he whispers, eyes fluttering back open. You look down to see him gripping the underside of his right forearm through his sleeve.

 _He’s afraid of losing control._ _He’s afraid of the curse._

You lay your hand over his, gently squeezing his fingers. “You’re not gonna hurt me,” you murmur.

Dean smiles grimly, shaking his head. “I’m the _last_ guy you want to be your first, kid.”

Something comes over you then. You were half-expecting to have to work for this anyway. So you’re gonna give it all you’ve got.

You raise up, leaning on your knees to slide the hand covering his up his flannel-covered arm, smoothing over the taut muscles hiding underneath, and you can feel him tensing under your touch.

Dean’s eyes are glued to your hand as it moves, locking onto yours when you reach his massive shoulder. His gaze slips down to your mouth as you glide your tongue along your lower lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“You’re _exactly_ who I want to be my first,” you say. You mean for the words to sound sincere; heart-felt - and they are, but the feeling of Dean’s warmth under your fingertips, his dark eyes fixed on you - seems to melt your voice into a lust-low rasp.

Dean’s throat bobs with a nervous swallow as you _slowly_ drag your hand from his shoulder down his chest and over his stomach. You pull away when you reach his belt, your now-trembling hand hovering over the buckle.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispers.

“I’m not made of glass,” you breathe back. “In fact,” you continue, dropping the tips of your fingers to the cool metal, flicking your eyes back up to his. “I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t be _too_ gentle.”

“Sh-shit,” he chokes. “You know,” you start again, “When I fantasize about you - and I do that _a lot-_ ”

Dean shifts then, your eyes slipping down to his lap where you can see the swollen outline of his cock straining against his jeans. Moisture collects between your legs as a delicious heat blankets your skin.

“When I fantasize about you,” you try again, “You fuck me so good…you fuck me _right_.” He makes a strangled noise.

You lean forward until your lips are at his ear, “And I can take it…I _promise_ ,” you whisper.

You lean back, watching as Dean screws his eyes shut, breaths pushing past his lips in short, rapid bursts. You smile to yourself, proud of the effect you’re having on him.

“I bet you know how to fuck too…Bet you could make me _scream_.” His eyes snap open at that, boring hot into you.

“When the hell did ya get this mouth on you, huh?” he pants. “What happened to my shy little virgin?”

You grin as an electric surge of pride bursts inside you in the possessiveness of his statement.

“Dunno. You just do things to me, Dean…” you purr. Your palm is flat against his belt buckle now, your fingers curling over the denim waistband of his jeans.

“Please,” your voice softens. “I want this - and I think you do too. If you don’t, just say the words and I’ll never speak of it again. But if you do…” You let your words trail, terrified all over again.

Dean reaches up to brush his fingertips feather-light across your cheek, then threads his fingers through your hair, moving to cup the back of your neck. He runs his thumb along your jawline, swiping back and forth. You lean into his touch as you try to read his face. His eyes hold onto yours, but they’re blank, masking the storm brewing in his mind.

And then he’s pulling your face to his, lava pumping through your veins as he slants his mouth over yours. You immediately part your lips for him and he quickly accepts the invitation; delving his tongue inside to lick over yours. His scent is intoxicating; spice, mint, and just a hint of beer. All _man_. You let him control the kiss as you helplessly moan into his mouth.

Heat gathers between your legs as you impatiently tug at his jeans during the mind-melting kiss and he pulls away with a breathless chuckle. “Easy, baby. We got time.”

You reluctantly release him, moving to straddle his lap where he fits his hands over your hips and squeezes, bunching the cotton of your shorts in his palms.

“Always liked these,” he rumbles.

“Yeah?” you breathe. “I wear ‘em for you, y’know.”

“ _Shit,_ kid.”

You move your hands up to the headboard behind Dean, leaning down to find his lips again, this time slipping your tongue inside to explore his. He smoothes his hands up and down your waist while yours grip at the smooth wood. Using the headboard as leverage, you begin to grind your hips against his, both of you gasping when you angle so that the hard lump under his jeans rubs perfectly against your rapidly dampening core.

You’re so slick between your thighs now that you know you’re going to soak through to Dean’s pants, but you’re too turned on to care.

You break the kiss when he moves his hands to your breasts, cupping them in his palms before greedily kneading them through the double layers of fabric. The feeling of his warm hands _there_ pulls even more wetness from your hungry cunt.

You still your hips as you release the headboard, leaning back to find the hem of your shirt, Dean’s hands falling away so you can slip the material up and off your body in one smooth motion.

Dean’s eyes widen a little as he takes you in, reaching up with both hands to trace the swells of your breasts. You shiver under his touch, your chest heaving with anxious arousal. He drops his hands to your waist before gliding them around to your back. Your chin barely clears the top of his head and his hair tickles your throat as he leans forward to press soft lips just above the valley of your breasts, not quite kissing - just pressing warm against you. He trails his mouth slightly to the left, and then you’re surging forward, grasping at his shoulders as his tongue dips down underneath the cup, laving wet-hot over your nipple.

You glance down - his lust-blown eyes are anchored to your face as he laps at your flesh, and you whimper as he slides his mouth over to tongue at your neglected breast.

Dean pulls back, leaving your heated skin to cool in his absence. He grazes his fingers up your back and then he’s expertly unclasping your bra; letting the straps slip loosely over your shoulders, slowly dragging them down your arms before tossing the garment to the floor.

You feel your face go crimson at your nudity; you’ve never been topless in front of anyone before…

But Dean isn’t looking at your face.

He releases a heavy exhale, his hands moving to your chest once again. He cups the soft mounds of flesh, feeling the weight of them in hands, and then he’s gently squeezing - and the sensation of skin on skin is making you _crazy_.

You gasp, your hands flying to his head when he takes your right nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over and over the bud. His free hand is still working your left breast, firmly massaging the flesh in rhythmic compressions.

You comb your fingers through Dean’s hair, your nails raking down his neck and across the expanse of his broad shoulders. He shivers against you as your hands work their way back to his head.

The feeling of Dean’s hot mouth on you is _unbelievable_ , your cunt pulsing with every flick of his tongue, and you idly wonder if it’s possible to come just from this alone.

He switches breasts - and _oh_ \- he’s _swirling_ his tongue around your nipple now while he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger.

You’re an absolute mess between your legs; you can feel the slick trickling down your spread thighs in warm trails underneath your shorts.

He finally pulls away, only to gather both breasts in his hands, giving them one last squeeze before attacking your mouth again. You mewl into the kiss, your hand going back to Dean’s belt.

“Please,” you pant, tearing your lips away from his. “I wanna…C-can I…May I…” God, you’re so worked up, you can hardly speak.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you blurt.

Dean’s eyes cloud with something - lust, you hope.

“Ah - Are you sure?” he chokes. “This is your first time, I should be takin’ care o’ you.”

“You are,” you whisper. And with that, he’s unfastening his belt at lightning speed. You slide off of his lap as he works his jeans down to bunch around his thick thighs, and your mouth actually _waters_ when his dick springs free.

He’s just as endowed (if not more) as you imagined he would be. Your pussy seizes at the thickness of it, your fingers twitching to touch the silky skin, to trace over the raised veins snaking to the flushed, leaking head.

He takes his cock in his hand, giving it two lazy pumps and then he’s reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

“ S’okay,” he says, “I’ll talk ya through it.”

And then you’re crawling down the length of the bed, kneeling between his perfectly bowed legs.

You lean forward, carefully curling you fingers around the base of the smooth shaft, and slowly drag your hand up, swiping your thumb across the pre-come slick tip. You jerk your hand away when he hisses.

“S’okay, just sensitive there,” he says. “Here, gimme your hand.” He sits up, reaching for you, dwarfing your hand in his as he brings it to his mouth where he licks two wide stripes into your palm before guiding your hand back to his length.

“There, that’ll make it easier for you and feel better for me,” he says with a soft chuckle as he leans back against the pillow.

You smile back as your hand finds its place again, dragging your now-slick palm up and down the silky column of flesh. He groans low in his throat as you pump him slow and careful, getting used to the feel of him.

“Feels so good, baby…” Dean breathes.

_Baby. He called you baby._

The sounds he’s making fuels your confidence and you move a little faster, trying out that pump-and-twist move you’ve seen in porn.

Dean lets out a breathy laugh, “Atta girl, you’re doing great - you’re a quick learner.” You smile to yourself, opting not to tell him where you learned the technique.

You lean down lower, draping an arm across his stomach as you peck the tip. He jolts at the contact, but you don’t give him a chance to speak because now you’re running your tongue along the underside of his cock, following the vein from base to tip. The salty taste of his flesh makes you a little high.

He reaches down to grab your hand on his belly, squeezing while you lick him. Your chest tightens at the intimate gesture, spurring you to please him further.

Still gripping him just above the balls, you lean your head to the left, tonguing up the side of his shaft before leaning to the right, giving that side the same treatment.

Dean’s breathing is rapidly quickening as you work him, barely-there moans bubbling from deep in his throat. You’re desperate to feel him in your mouth, feel the weight of him on your tongue. Your parted lips hover just over the weeping head of his cock as you hesitate. His impressive size is intimidating - you want to do good, not give him the worst blow job of his life.

Dean notices your stillness, gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey, just take it slow kiddo,” he encourages.

And you do, slowly lowering your mouth until your lips are wrapped around the flushed tip. The unfamiliar salty tang of pre-come floods your taste buds and you experimentally swirl your tongue around him, pulling a choked groan from Dean’s chest. You sink your mouth further down, freezing when your teeth graze the skin.

“Relax your jaw, sweetheart,” Dean instructs. You obey, finding that you can take him a little deeper, but your teeth soon meet flesh again. You slide off of him and let out frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry - I’m just _shit_ at this,” you hiss, frustrated.

“Woah, calm down,” Dean soothes, propping up on his elbows. He juts his chin toward you. “Try using both hands.”

You look at him with uncertainty, but lick into your palms before wrapping both hands around his shaft, one on top of the other. You lean down, taking him between your lips once again. Your hands are taking up the majority of his length, leaving less work for your mouth. You slowly slide your lips down, until they meet your curled fingers. You glide a little faster back up to the head, quickly working up to a shallow, bobbing rhythm.

Dean curses as you increase your speed, now twisting your hands in a wringing motion around him. You chance a peek at his face, peering up at him from under your lashes. He’s still up on his elbows but his eyes are closed, head tipped back as breathy moans push passed his parted lips.

Gaining confidence, you take a hand away while simultaneously hollowing your cheeks around him, sucking him deeper until you feel him bump the back of your throat.

“Oh, fuck!” Dean gasps, jolting upright, pulling out of your mouth with a pop. You stare at him wide-eyed and confused - what did you do wrong?

“Sorry - I was about to come,” he says with a lazy smile. “And I ain’t done yet.”

_Fuck._

You let out a squeal as big hands seize your waist, and in a blur you’re on your back, taking Dean’s previous place on the bed. He’s on his knees in front of you, a ravenous look in his yes as he peels off his flannel, cock bouncing as he tosses the shirt behind him. You bite your lip, bringing your hands up to palm at your breasts.

He leans down, his dick brushing warm against your thigh as he bats your hands away to lick a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh god,” you whimper, your hands flying to his head, holding him against you. He groans into your flesh, the deep timbre of his voice sending electric tingles vibrating through your nerve endings.

“Think I’m addicted to these tits,” he mumbles as he moves to seal plump lips around another nipple.

Any other time you’d laugh at his statement, roll your eyes at least, but not not now. Not when he’s hooking thick fingers into the waistband of your shorts, working them down over your hips, taking your panties with them.

He leans back, and you raise your legs as he shimmies the material down, tossing the material over his shoulder to join his abandoned flannel. You shiver, either from the chill of the room ghosting over your flesh, or from the scrutiny of Dean’s gaze - you’re not sure.

“ _Damn,_ baby.” he groans. “Pretty as a goddamned picture.”

Heat floods your cheeks as his eyes sweep over you, but then he’s shifting, situating himself between your spread knees. He holds your gaze as he drags his hands up and down your thighs, then he’s dipping his head, your cunt clenching at the heat of him. He flattens his tongue, and your hips twitch as he sweeps a wide, tasting stripe up your glistening folds.

This has always been a major theme in your fantasies; Dean Winchester going down on you, but imagination doesn’t do it justice - because now there’s a _real_ tongue lapping at your pussy, Dean’s _tongue_ and - _oh_ , now he’s nestling that wet muscle between your folds, pressing deeper until he’s breaching your tight channel, settling his stubbled chin against your slick, tender flesh.

You tense a little at the feeling of him pushing something inside, but you’re so slippery-wet that it’s nothing short of _heaven_ when he sinks his tongue into you.

“Ah - oh, oh my god…” you whimper at the new sensation. You raise yourself to lean on your elbows and fuck you’ve never seen anything so erotic.

Dean’s muscled arms are looped around your thighs, fingers splayed over the flesh. But what’s really taking your breath away is his face: eyes closed, those long lashes fanning across the golden lamp-cast glow of his cheeks, thick upper lip flared across the top of your folds - his eyes flick open. He’s watching you watch him, and shit, you can feel him smile against your cunt.

His fingertips press a little deeper into the flesh of your thighs and then he’s _thrusting_ his tongue in and out of your pussy. You can feel his stubbled chin scraping against you as he works his jaw.

You collapse to your back, gasping and panting at the ceiling - your insides feel like they’re melting as he eats you with abandon.

And then he’s pulling away, hands pushing your thighs further apart. He shifts and then he’s focusing his entire mouth on your clit, dragging his teeth over the nub before sucking it between his lips and swirling his tongue around the pleasure-bundle. Your eyes flutter closed as debauched moans tumble past your lips as he works your sweet spot while your hands fist your hair because you don’t know what to do with the fire burning inside you.

You hear a brief sucking sound and then your hips are jerking, startled at the wet finger stroking through your folds, nudging at your tight ring. You’re so buttery-slick that you’re sure you could take his entire fucking _hand_ , but you’re still content with the slow stretch of one thick finger easing it’s way inside.

You hum as he slides in to the last knuckle, wriggling the digit to test your tightness.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re gonna fit me like a glove, aren’t ya?” You make a strangled sound, clenching around him at the dirty talk.

“So warm and wet,” he continues. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

You’re far past the ability to form words, so you simply gasp and whimper in response as he slides a second finger inside you, up against the first and then he’s languidly pumping in and out. Your walls grab at him every time he enters, trying to pull him in deeper. He dips his head, lips hovering over your swollen clit as he simply breathes hot bursts of air against you.

He leans in, pressing his tongue flat against the throbbing bundle of nerves and then he’s lapping at your flesh while his fingers steadily climb to a near-brutal pace.

“Oh - oh god - _fuck!_ ” you sob, hips jerking while your hands fist the sheets beside you. You’re keening now, right at that precipice when he sucks your clit into his mouth, sealing his lips around the nub while rolling it between his lips - and then you’re falling, convulsing around his jerking fingers.

Dean’s lips leave your painfully sensitive clit as he finger-fucks you through your orgasm.

You slowly come down, sweat-soaked and gasping as a satisfied smile begins to form on your lips. You feel so giddy - the first time someone else has made you come.

 _Dean Winchester_ made you come.

When you finally peel your eyes open, Dean is hovering over you, braced on both forearms on either side of your shoulders. He’s smiling a lazy, lop-sided smile that would normally make you melt if you weren’t a puddle already.

“Thank you,” you say dumbly, running your hands up and down his bulging arms. He laughs a genuine laugh at that.

“Thank you?” he repeats. “Well, aren’t you polite?” he smirks. He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. “But ah, we’re not done yet, y’know.”

A wave of fresh heats floods through you at his implication. You smile coyly, fingering the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Why am I naked when you’re fully clothed?” You ask playfully.

“Well,” he counters, dipping his head in a quick nod toward the jeans shoved down around his thighs, “I’m workin’ on it,” he winks, earning a giggle from you. He ducks down to press his lips to yours, literally kissing the smile off your face. He combs his fingers through your hair as he swallows your hums and happy sighs.

When Dean breaks the kiss, he doesn’t pull back, keeps his lips just a whisper away.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he murmurs. You almost laugh - after all that, he’s asking if you wanna back out? But you don’t laugh. Instead, you curl a hand around the back of his head, pulling him into a lazy kiss.

“Want this more than anything,” you whisper. “Please.” Another press of his lips and he’s shifting to his knees to yank off his plain black t-shirt, revealing miles of toned muscle and tanned skin. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of him, fingers itching to trace over the black anti-possession tattoo. He falls back on his ass to tug his jeans the rest of the way off, his belt buckle jingling as he moves.

You nibble on a fingernail as Dean crawls up your body, peppering kisses up your stomach, between your breasts, along the column of your neck, until finally meeting your lips again.

You feel the fire of new arousal stirring in your lower belly as Dean licks into your mouth. Smoothing your hands up his solid back, you draw your knees up to press into his muscled sides.

Pulling away, he braces himself on an arm to give his cock two lazy strokes before lining himself up with your orgasm-slick entrance. You take a shuddering breath at the nudging press of his wide head.

“Shh,” Dean breathes, “ ‘M gonna go slow okay? I gotcha.”

You nod your head, relaxing at the rumbling baritone of his voice. You gasp as he inches forward, slipping the tip inside.

“Breathe kiddo.” You release a controlled exhale while he slowly presses on another couple of inches, pausing to let you adjust.

“You okay?”

“Ye - Yeah,” you gasp. Another inch and _god_ , he’s filling you up nicely. There’s a little pain, but you’re so tingly-wet with desire that it’s a pleasurable kind of pain - a kind of delicious stinging stretch. You press your fingertips a little deeper into the flesh of his back as he sinks, careful not to use your nails. You’ll save that for another time, you think.

Dean groans when he’s fully sheathed inside you and you wonder if it feels half as good for him as it does for you. You hope it does.

He lowers himself back to both forearms, holding the majority of his weight off of you. His head is a little further past yours due to the height difference, so you have to crane your neck to see his face. He dips his head down until his forehead rests against yours.

“You ready?”

You bite your lip and nod, suddenly shy again. And with eyes trained on yours, he’s pulling back - and _fuck_ the drag feels heavenly against your walls. He’s almost completely out of you when he slowly pushes back in.

He keeps this sluggish pace for the next several thrusts and then he starts to tremble as he - almost robotically -rocks into you, the taut muscles in his back quivering under your fingertips. Concern starts to dampen the molten heat flowing inside you; his eyes are dark and unfocused, brows knitted, and the bolt of his jaw bulges underneath scruff-peppered skin. His mouth twitches, almost like he’s restraining - shit.

_He’s holding back._

You slip your hands from his back to cup his cheeks.

“Dean?” He stills.

“S’okay, I’m okay,” he says tightly.

“Hey,” you murmur, “Let go, I trust you.”

Dean closes his eyes, vehemently shaking his head, “No - no, you’re not ready for that. I could hurt-”

“Dean.” Your voice is stern, “I need you to fuck me.”

His eyes snap open at your words, and in a flash, your hands are beside your head, fingers laced with his - and then he starts to fucking _move_.

You gasp as he slams his hips forward, quickly working up to deep, smooth-and-steady strokes. He’s grunting with every thrust, pulling broken whimpers and moans from your throat.

“Oh - oh sh- _shit!_ ” You’re squeezing Dean’s hands so hard you think your fingers might break. His lips find your throat, nipping at the juncture between neck and shoulder as you bring your legs up, locking them at the ankles, just above his ass.

The antique bed squeaks under your exertions, old bed springs moaning right along with you as Dean repeatedly slams his hips into yours. He’s kissing you now, swiping his tongue against yours in perfect time with his thrusts.

The constant, fluid drag in and out of your aching heat is _maddening_. You try to meet him thrust for thrust, but he’s holding you down, fucking into you so rapidly that you can’t do anything but just take him.

Dean breaks the kiss, drawing back to bore hooded, lust-dark eyes into yours. His face is flushed, brows arched in concentration, beads of sweat gathered along his upper lip and hairline. His mouth twitches and trembles as he moves against you.

He drops his head, panting hot and heavy into your ear, a stray moan occasionally rumbling from his chest.

You grit your teeth, trying to absorb the immense pleasure Dean’s hammering cock is generating.

“Dean-” you push out, “Fuck - I’m gonna…I - I think…oh god - I need-” Your cunt is greedily clenching around him and you’re caught between begging him to fuck you harder, and begging him to let you come, to _make_ you come.

“Fuck,” Dean grunts, releasing your left hand to bring his between your writhing bodies. He dips the hardened pads of two fingers down over your clit, rubbing rough, repetitive circles. Your hips helplessly jerk against him as he works you, your legs trembling around his slick, sweat-soaked sides.

He spreads his thighs, now using his knees to hump into you, the leverage enabling him to spear even deeper, slamming against your g-spot over and over. Dean’s fingers feel like a blur against your tingling clit and your mouth hangs open in a breathless scream as he propels you toward your second climax.

“C’mon, let me hear ya kid.” And that’s what it does it; white spots dot your vision as you clamp down on him with an inhuman _screech_ , bucking against his hulking mass.

Dean fucks you through it, giving you four more solid pumps before he slips out, groaning deep as he spills hot and thick onto your stomach.

He rolls off of you, panting as he combs thick fingers through his mussed hair. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths through the aftermath, and your brain feels a bit like cotton, orgasm-drunk and you mindlessly run a finger through the cooling puddle of come on your stomach. You turn your head toward his, catching his half-lidded gaze as you slip your finger into your mouth, suckling at the salty taste of him.

Dean’s eyes go impossibly wide at the sight before darkening as he pounces back on top of you. You giggle-shriek as he moves, grasping at his shoulders and hissing as he attacks your neck with lips and teeth.

He’s smiling boyishly when he pulls away to look at your face.

“Who the hell _are_ you?” he laughs. “Virgin, my ass.”

“Not anymore,” you quip back. His deep chuckle ebbs into a relaxed smile. “Was it as good as your uh… _fantasies?_ ” he asks with a dramatized husk.

“Better!” There’s a playful tint to your voice, but your answer is honest. “So much better…”

“So...you wouldn’t hate doing that again sometime?”

“ S'like you said,” you shrug, tracing a finger along the black ink of his tattoo,

“We got time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Dean reciprocates your feelings. And the night's not over yet.

It’s 12:30 a.m now, but you’re nowhere near ready for sleep. You and Dean have spent the last hour and a half in each other’s arms laughing, talking, and you actually finished the abandoned movie after Dean had finally found his laptop under the mess of covers.

You’re curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder, beaming as the credits roll, but it isn’t from the film - you’re giddy from him. And it’s not just from the sex - sure, you’re satisfied in a way you’ve never experienced before - but it’s more that that. It’s butterflies and sunshine.

It’s love.

It’s a good five minutes pass before he speaks again, the low gravel of his voice seeping deep into your bones.

“You tired?” he asks, drawing circles into the smooth skin of your upper arm.

“Nuh-uh,” you grunt, arching your neck back to look at him. He smiles a soft, closed-lipped smile before he rolls his neck back against the pillow to gaze up at the ceiling.

“Me either,” he sighs. “So, whaddya wanna do?” It’s barely there, but there’s a hint of playfulness to his voice.

“Honestly?” you grin up at him, “I kinda wanna ride you.” Dean’s head snaps back toward you, a slow grin blossoming across his face.

“ _Damn_ , kid…” he breathes. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

You let out a breathy giggle, “Be a hell of a way to go,” you jest.

He sweeps his tongue across his lower lip before pulling it between perfect gleaming teeth and shakes his head in awe.

“S’good thing I got stamina,” he teases, “You’d wear any other old guy out.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re not old, Dean…but uh, how much stamina are we talkin’?”

Mischief flashes across his eyes. “Oh, you’re about to find out, honey.”

Dean closes the computer on his lap, discarding the machine for the second time tonight.

Heat builds in your lower belly as he shoves the covers down, leaving them to drape across your hip and bunch around his thighs. He draws his legs up until they’re bent at the knees and takes his rapidly swelling cock in his hand, stroking it as he locks his eyes onto yours.

You absently lick at your lips as he works himself, recalling how good and thick he felt in your mouth.

You raise up, pushing the covers completely off of you, rolling towards him on your knees. Dean stills his hand at the base as you curl your fingers around his, collecting your hair into a makeshift pony tail with your free hand as you lean forward to slide your lips over the reddening crown.

He lets out a shaky exhale as you envelope him in the warm heat of your mouth, slowly sinking down to your hand and back up to the tip. His hips jerk when you flick your tongue against the slit, collecting the now-familiar tang of pre-come.

A warm hand smoothes down your back as you glide back down his length, fingers trailing down the left globe of your ass to toy at the soft lips of your pussy. You inhale sharply at the contact, inching your knees closer to him to give him an easier reach.

He swipes two fingers up and down your folds, quickly building up a wetness before slowly pushing into your slick heat, lazily pumping in and out. You moan around his length, subconsciously matching his rhythm, bobbing your head in tandem with his working fingers.

You’re sucking around him now, causing him to absently rock his hips up into your mouth, his fingers faltering. You can feel him swell against your tongue, feel him thicken between your stretched lips.

You release him, desperate to feel him inside you again. You pull yourself off of Dean’s fingers to swing a leg over his hips, hovering just over his now-glistening cock, centering yourself so that the wide tip kisses your folds.

Your chin is tucked into your chest as you focus on guiding yourself down onto his length, and you’re actually _startled_ when Dean takes your hands in his, entwining your fingers.

You slowly slide down over the head, squeezing his hands as you descend, his thickness stretching you open. Your eyes flutter closed and your mouth drops open as you take him, the slow drag of his cock sending every nerve ending alight.

The depths he’s reaching makes you a little dizzy and you gasp when your clit brushes against the skin of his lower abdomen.

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean breathes as you settle against him.

You don’t move for a beat, reveling in the sensation of his entire length buried hot inside you. Your crack your eyes open to find Dean’s, heavy-lidded and smoldering into yours. His lips are parted, chin slightly jutted forward, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Your fingers twitch in his hands as you dig your knees into the sheets, slowly lifting yourself up to the tip, nearly leaving him, the hairs on his thighs tickling the backs of your own as you slide back down.

You arch your back, leaning forward as you pick up speed, Dean’s fingertips pressing into the backs of your hands as you fuck yourself down on him.

It doesn’t take long for the burn to begin in your thighs, muscles straining from the exertion. Sweat breaks across your brow as shallow breaths push past your parted lips.

You shift, experimentally rolling your hips to alleviate some of the tension in your protesting muscles. Dean grunts at the angle change, rocking his up into yours to meet you.

You throw your head back at the _indescribable_ feel of him; he’s reaching depths now that you didn’t even know you had, easily bumping into that pleasure patch that makes your entire body _sing_.

You drop your head to your chest, bowing your neck until you can catch a glimpse of his cock repeatedly disappearing into you. The sight alone has you _seizing_ around him, thickening your arousal almost to the point that you forget all about the fire in your thighs.

Dean seems to notice, though. Maybe it’s the way your fingers squeeze between his, or the way your legs tremble around the rolling muscles in his sides - but he’s releasing your hands to hook both arms around your back, pulling you forward, flush against his solid chest. You gasp at the suddenness of it, grasping at his thick shoulders, your nipples tingling as they press into warm, firm flesh.

He doesn’t move at first; just crushes you against him, flexing his hips. You whimper as the nearly undetectable motion causes his dick to stir _deliciously_ inside you.

He breathes warm and damp into the smooth curve of your neck, gives you one lazy hump and then - oh _god_ \- then he’s fucking _hammering_ into your pulsing channel. You sob into the pillow just beyond his ear as he drives into you, the wet _smack-smack-smack_ of his hips slamming into yours pinging off the old bunker walls.

You’re vaguely aware of Dean’s breathing as your voice dies down; shaking, shuddering breaths in your ear as he brutally catapults you toward the edge at almost _frightening_ speed.

Nothing in the universe exists anymore, nothing but the extraordinary sensation of Dean Winchester’s pistoning cock.

His fingers press into the soft flesh of your sides as he fucks into you, your clit grinding exquisitely into the firm skin of his lower stomach with every snap of his hips.

“ _Plee-ee-ease!_ ” you keen, not sure what you’re begging for exactly, but _god_ , do you want it.

Without warning, white suddenly blankets your vision as your wails catch in your throat. Your cunt latches onto him, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you buck and jerk against his solid bulk.

And then Dean’s _growling_ , arms tightening around you as his cock pulses, pumping thick ropes of come deep into your spasming cunt.

You relax against his warmth as his dick twitches inside your come-slick heat. Dean smoothes his hands up and down your sweat-coated back as you both come down, pressing warm lips against your neck.

You feel heavy, boneless, positive you could sleep just like this. Especially when Dean nuzzles his face deeper into the crook of your neck, scruff scraping at your heated flesh.

You make a sound deep in your throat, “You’re right,” you say, bringing a hand up to card through his damp hair.

“Hmm,” Dean grunts.

“You definitely got stamina.”

He snorts against you, “Told ya,” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin.

“I could use a shower,” Dean rumbles, drawing back to smirk at you.

“Yeah?” you grin. He wrinkles his nose at you, “You could too - you reek of sex.”

You reel back, purse your lips, and give him a teasing punch to the shoulder.

“Dick,” you laugh.

“C’mon,” Dean says, giving your ass a playful smack. “Up.”

You groan as you lean back, tenderly lifting up and off of his softening length, before ungracefully rolling off the bed.

There’s a significant ache pulling at your inner thighs and you know you’ll be walking just as bow-legged as him in the morning.

It takes a good minute for you to find your discarded clothing, and Dean waits patiently by the door, clad only in low-slung, belt-less jeans as you make yourself decent enough for the short walk to the showers.

**********

Dean softly clicks the shower-room door shut behind you as you spin to face him, your fingers quickly peeling off your thin clothing.

You fit your hands on your now-bare hips, popping one to the side as you wink at the gawking hunter, before turning on your heels to start the shower.

You slip a testing hand into the firm spray of water, twisting at the faucet until you get the perfect temperature. You turn at the waist to find a smirking, _naked_ Dean stepping out of the denim pooled around his ankles.

You bite your lip as you step into the steaming cubicle, humming at the feel of a muscled arm snaking around your waist. You turn against his arm, closing your eyes and groaning as the hot water cascades over you, clearing the sex-generated sweat from your hair and skin.

There's a plastic snapping sound as you run your hands up your face, pressing your fingertips into your eyelids to clear them of the running streams of water. You blink your eyes ope to see Dean lathering his hands with the clean-scented body wash. He brings a soap-sudded hand up, making a twirling motion with his index finger.

You obey the gesture, turning your back to him where he slides his foamy hands around your sides and up your stomach, leaving behind bubble trails in their wake, stopping to cup your breasts. He takes the weight of them in his palms, gives them a firm squeeze, and flicks his thumbs over the still-sensitive nipples. You drop your head back against his chest, moaning softly as you raise your arms to loop around the back of his neck.

He releases you to run his big hands over your shoulders and down your arms, coating you in a rich, creamy lather. You gasp when he smoothes his hands down and over your ass, giving each a globe a firm squeeze before circling a hand around to cup your mound. Dean groans as you drag your nails down the back of his head and neck, prompting him to glide his fingers through your folds. Your hips curl up into his hand, fiery arousal balling up inside you for the third time tonight.

You let out a small whimper of disappointment when his hand leaves you, only to return a second later, soap-free, palm cupped into a fleshy bowl of water. He tips his hand between your legs, clearing your folds of suds, before parting your lips with two fingers, slowly pushing them inside your waiting entrance.

Dean tucks his stubbled chin into the crook of your neck as he gently works his digits into you.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs under the pouring spray.

You release a breathy chuckle, “I’m in the shower, Einstein.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grunts. “You’re slick.”

_Oh god._

He gives you three pumps and then he’s bringing in his ring finger, toying at the right outer lip of your pussy.

“Bet you’re gettin’ kinda tired of two fingers, huh?”

_Is he - Oh, holy shit._

“Let’s add a third,” he rumbles, slipping the digit over to nudge against your opening.

You shuffle your feet farther apart as he slides in, whimpering at the fullness of being stretched around three thick fingers.

He brings his free hand up to your left breast, palming and squeezing, as he begins to pump his digits into your eager pussy, the heel of his palm mashed up perfectly against your aching clit.

Your hands leave his neck to clutch at the arm working your cunt, muscles rolling under your fingertips.

He crooks his fingers, stroking _there_ \- and _fuck_ \- you’re melting around him, knees buckling under the pleasure.

Dean drops his hand from your breast to catch you around the waist, whispering into your ear, “Shh, I gotcha…I gotcha. Just let go.”

Your stomach clenches in time with your cunt at his words.

“Shit-” you choke. “Fuck-” You’re clenching your teeth now, so hard you’re surprised they don’t break.

“S’okay, honey. Just feel it…” The scruff of his cheek scratches against yours as he speaks and - god help you - it’s adding to the heightening pleasure.

“ _Hnnnngh_ ,” you whine. The ability to speak long lost.

“You’re okay, baby,” Dean croons. “I know you wanna come, sweetheart - I can feel it, just give it to me-”

Your hearing switches off - no sound except for the blood pounding in your ears as you come around his fingers. Your orgasm is so powerful you’re not even sure if you’re making a sound - you’d be doubled over if not for Dean holding you upright.

And just like that, the sound is on again, Dean’s rumbling voice pouring into your ear, “Good girl…that was so _good_ , baby.”

You jerk in his arms, his praises seeming to generate even more aftershocks.

When your breathing is steady again and you regain the ability to fucking _move_ , you twist around to curve a hand around his neck, pulling him down into a languid kiss.

You pull away, taking his plump bottom lip with you as you lock your eyes on his. You release him just as you slowly sink to your knees, his broad body shielding you from the hot jets of water.

The floor of the shower is hard against your knees, but you push the discomfort to the back of your mind as you take Dean’s rapidly hardening length in your hand, stroking him from root to tip. You flash him a coy smile just before you take him in your mouth.

You keep your grip at the base, bringing your free hand up to cup his balls, humming around him when his hips buck forward.

You flatten your tongue along the underside of his cock as he swells, the thick vein gliding against it as you bob your head.

You flick your eyes upward at the wet smack of a palm colliding with tile. You’d smile if your mouth wasn’t full; Dean’s bracing himself against the water-splattered wall, eyes closed, the crease between his furrowed brows in a deep line, full lips parted in an open-mouthed gape.

You slide off of him, vigorously pumping his thickness in your curled hand as you peer up at him from under your brows. Dean tries to hold your gaze, actually manages for a solid three seconds, failing when his eyes roll back in his head.

You give his sac a firm squeeze before sucking him back into your mouth, a heavy hand dropping to the back of your head as you seal your lips around him. You loosen your jaw to take him as deep as you can, swallowing around the tip as he brushes past your throat.

His hand gathers a fistful of your hair, hips lurching forward, and you gag, salty moisture collecting at the brim of your eyes. He pulls back then, slipping out of your mouth and you slap a hand to his thigh, steadying him.

“S’okay,” you assure him, “S’good - I like it.”

You lean in again, but he gives firm tug to your hair. “N-nnh,” he manages. “M’gonna come if you keep that up.”

“Good,” you rasp. “Wantcha to.”

“Oh _god_ ,” he groans.

And then you _dive_ onto him, going straight for the kill. You suck around him, _hard_ \- and fuck, now he’s got both hands in your hair, holding your head steady as he takes control, fucking into your mouth.

He’s thrusting so deeply, that you’re making that pornographic _guh-guh-guh_ sound as he repeatedly hits the back of your throat.

And you’re absolutely fucking loving it.

“G-gonna come…Oh _god_ , I’m gonna-”

You yank your head back at his warning, his fingers loosening in your hair before leaving completely as you pull away.

You take his rigid length in your hand, jerking him at a blurring speed as you comb your wet hair back out of your face with your free hand. You lick your lips as you meet his hooded gaze, flashing him a wicked smile as you pump him.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck- _fuuuuuck!_ ”

And then his hands are slamming back against the tiled walls, hips twitching as he spurts thick stripes of come across your face. You take him into the heat of your mouth one last time as you suck and lick the remnants off the head.

You lean back to sit on your heels as you bring your fingertips to your your eyes, clearing milky globs from your lashes. You smile up at him as you lick your fingers.

“Mmm,” you groan. “Y’taste so good…”

Dean’s eyes narrow into slits as he pants above you, hands sliding down the tiles to heave you up to your feet by your upper arms. You squeeze your eyes shut and _squeal_ when he twirls you into the now-cooling spray.

You roll your head back to let the lukewarm water wash Dean's climax from your face.

You open your eyes after rubbing the water from your eyes to see Dean, smiling that crinkly-eyed smile, shaking his head.

“I’m tellin’ ya, kid,” he says. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

**********

You glance at the clock as you finish brushing your freshly-clean hair.

1:52 a.m. You’re sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, still a bit giddy from tonight’s turn of events, but _exhausted_.

You toss your hairbrush on the nightstand and turn towards Dean, who’s laying on his belly, clad in fresh sweats and a grey t-shirt.

He blinks slowly at you, a soft, sleepy smile that’s half hidden by the pillow.

You prop yourself up on an elbow, scratching your nails down the back of his wet head.

“Y’wanna sleep in here?” he mumbles.

“Wouldn’t hate it,” you tease.

He huffs an amused grunt, rolling over to pat a hand against his chest, stretching his burly arm toward you. You accept the invitation, snuggling into his side and draping your arm across his stomach as you lay your head on his shoulder.

You close your eyes when he clicks off the lamp, smiling as you breathe him in. There’s a million worries buzzing somewhere in the back of your mind.

There will be a conversation to be had - tomorrow of course.

Not tonight. Tonight, you’ll sleep peacefully for the first time in months.

Because now, you’ve got time.


End file.
